


take this sinking boat and point it home

by writerforlife



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve and Tony finally TALK to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: Piece by piece, Steve and Tony reassemble their friendship. Yet Tony's hiding exactly how broken he is after returning from Titan. Set after Infinity War. Title from Glen Hansard's "Falling Slowly"





	take this sinking boat and point it home

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait for Avengers 4 for Tony and Steve to actually TALK to each other and COMMUNICATE!! So that's what this fic is trying to achieve :)

Steve doesn’t know how long he sits on the ground. He keeps one hand curled into the dust. This is the body. This is what he gets. Why does he _never_ get a body? If Bucky was dead in front of him, maybe he could accept it. Maybe. His name pulses in his brain like a heartbeat, gradually swelling into a scream.

_Bucky. Bucky. Bucky._

Behind him, the others whisper. Steve wants to scream at them. What good will whispers do? Who cares about decorum? The world’s gone to shit, and Hell, he’s noticed. Everyone’s noticed at this point. Might as well shout. “We have to assume that Sam…” Rhodey trails off and chokes out a cough.

“T’Challa, too,” Okoye says. “Except there’s no assuming. I know. The princess…”

“Confirmed alive.” Natasha lowers her hand from her ear. “Barnes…”

Steve feels their eyes on him. Feels them watching him. Waiting. Well, he sure isn’t going to give them a damn show. Everyone forgets he’s a soldier.

“And Tony?” Bruce asks.

Steve closes his eyes, nausea overcoming him. When _that_ phone rang, his hand had trembled, his thoughts had flashed back to a warehouse in Siberia, to a mistake. Finally. A chance to fix it. And then it hadn’t been Tony. Bruce, saying that Tony was gone.

“Nothing,” Rhodey says. “I’ve seen him come back from crazier things. I plan to look. But now…” Rhodey doesn’t mask a sniffle this time. “We’d be working with fifty-fifty, and since he disappeared before, I’d say less than that.

_Less than that._

Why hadn’t Steve turned to dust, too? Didn’t he deserve it? Didn’t he deserve to go with Bucky for once?

“Up you get, Captain.” A strong hand extends toward his. Thor studies him grimly. Up close, Steve notices that his eyes are two slightly different colors.

Steve accepts Thor’s help and stumbles to his feet. “Who did you lose?” he asks.

Thor laughs bitterly—much too cynical for the man Steve knew three years ago. “Who haven’t I lost? Only Rabbit survived.” Thor points to the raccoon—who _talks_ , and Steve thought he’d seen everything—staring at the ground dejectedly. “Not even Loki. Your Bucky…”

 _Don’t_ , Steve thinks.

“He fought bravely.”

Steve inhales sharply.

“What do we do next?” Bruce asks.

Steve straightens his shoulders. He may not be Captain America anymore, but he’s a leader. A fixer. An Avenger. He needs to be everything Tony was, too—charismatic, optimistic, brilliant—but Tony could very well be dead. No more relying on him.

But Steve doesn’t know what to say.

 

#

 

Regrouping becomes the primary activity. Shuri—remarkably composed for a teenager who became queen and lost half her country, including her brother in one afternoon—gives them rooms in the palace. Everyone slowly ebbs to their own rooms, their own spaces and grief, until Steve is sitting alone with Rhodey in a radar room over an open bottle of whiskey.

“I’m going to find him,” Rhodey says. He’s on his third drink. Steve’s had half the bottle. Doesn’t even feel a buzz. “For Pepper and myself. If he’s dead, I’ll find a body. If he’s dust, then I don’t know what I’ll do. But Tony’s out there.”

“I should’ve apologized earlier,” Steve blurts.

Rhodey sighs. “It was a complicated situation. You both—”

The radar behind them pings. Rhodey pulls himself to his feet and ambles to the radar. He leans forward, brows drawn together, then swears. “Something’s in the atmosphere. It’s going to land here… like, now.”

Steve stands, chair scraping across the floor. “I’ll suit up.” He strides to his room, waiting for the pre-fight adrenaline to kick, for the rush to sweep over him like it always does before battle. Instead, he looks at his bed and fights the urge to bury himself within the blankets. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he could imagine Bucky curled around him, holding him.

“Alert,” a robotic announcement says over the speakers spanning the wing. “Foreign ship entering the system. Has bypassed barriers.”

Steve sighs and pulls his uniform on. When he runs out, Thor’s striding down the hallway, his new axe clutched in his hand, sparks of lightning sizzling on his fingers and hair. They exchange a look as they walk into the pitch black night, the only light coming from Thor’s faintly glowing eyes. Rhodey flies next to them, the War Machine suit whirring faintly, before landing and swearing quietly.

“That’s a ship,” Thor says.

“And that’s a woman,” Rhodey adds.

Steve blinks. Sure enough, a lithe, bald woman is trudging through the tall grass, her blue skin flashing in the moonlight. She’s half-dragging, half-carrying something, grimacing all the while. Steve sees a hint of bloodied skin, an outline of ravaged metal. His breath hitches.

“This belongs to you,” she shouts when she’s close enough. Her dark eyes flash as she unceremoniously drops her burden onto the ground—a body. A dead body? Steve bitterly thinks that the person’s loved ones are lucky. At least they have a body. “He isn’t well.”

The person moans. Not dead.

Rhodey’s facemask flips up to reveal his wide, panicked gaze. “Oh, God.”

Steve drops to his knees and rolls the person over.

It’s Tony.

Even with the low moonlight, Steve notices the pulsing bruises and oozing cuts that cover Tony’s face. That was how he always looked after being knocked around in the suit. _The suit._ Jagged, chewed-on edges of iron cover random parts of Tony’s body, leaving his legs and torso exposed. Steve’s hands hover over Tony’s left side. Red soaks his workout shirt, blooming from a deep knife wound. When Steve lifts the shirt, his stomach turns. Someone took pleasure in stabbing Tony, found joy in twisting the blade in deeper.  Even worse, dust coats his hands, his chest, his cheek. The same dust Steve ran his fingers through.

“Is he…” Rhodey swallows hard.

“He’s alive,” Steve whispers. He glances at the woman, who’s already walking away.

“Who are you?” Thor calls after her.

“Someone who wants Thanos dead.” The woman starts to climb back into her ship. “And someone who’s going to make that happen.”

Her ship takes off as Steve, Rhodey, and Thor stare at it. Rhodey speaks quietly on a comm, not taking his eyes from Tony the entire time. Steve opens his mouth, feeling like he should say something, but it’s Thor who finally speaks.

“He needs to see a healer, yes?” Once again, Thor pulls Steve to his feet, but this time, he doesn’t let go of his shoulder. “Steady,” he murmurs as Rhodey starts to lift Tony, using the War Machine armor’s strength. “He’ll be fine, Captain.”

_That shield doesn’t belong to you._

“You need to say something,” Thor presses.

_You don’t deserve it._

“Captain?”

_My father made that shield._

“Please don’t call me Captain,” Steve chokes out.

Thor’s gaze softens, even as his grip tightens. “Of course, Steve.”

 

#

 

Steve lingers outside as palace personnel cut away Tony’s clothes and suit, as Shuri fixes the gaping wound on his chest, as Rhodey sits motionless by his bedside talking to Pepper. He knows he should leave. He knows he should give Tony privacy.

But he thought Tony was dead.

He thought things had remained unfixed.

 _Stark is stubborn_ , a voice supplies. _He won’t forgive you._

That was okay. He could protect. Defend. Avenge. He would do everything over again if it meant keeping Bucky safe, but losing the Avengers had been a high cost. He told himself that Tony was arrogant enough to survive any blow, clever and strong enough to run the remnants of the team without him. Even that platitude was quavering, though. Bruised and battered in a bed with white sheets, Tony looked far from invincible.

So Steve waited, turning the thought over and over in his mind.

Tony was _basically_ invincible. He’d seen the man fly a nuke into a wormhole and come away unscathed, joke and drink his way through Ultron, quip during the battle at the airport. Tony would recover from whatever this was.

Finally, Tony gasped. His eyes flew open as he coughed, clawing at the sheets. Rhodey grabbed his wrists and held him steady as he thrashed.

“You’re safe,” Rhodey said. “Tony, you’re safe. We’re in Wakanda.”

“You have to take me back to Titan.” Tony wrenched himself from Rhodey’s grip, eyes wild as he pressed his hands against his bare chest. “Where’s my shirt?” He held his hands out in front of him. “You cleaned my hands. You cleaned… Where’s my shirt?” The words turn into a choked gasp. Tony doubles over, breaths coming in labored heaves.

“Tony,” Rhodey whispers mournfully.

“Peter.” Tony _whimpers_ , tears rising in his manic eyes _._ Steve instantly feels voyeuristic for watching this. “Rhodey, he’s gone, he was here…” Tony points to his chest, hands trembling. “He was here, and then he was… I was holding him. Rhodey.”

“Breathe.” Rhodey leans forward and envelopes Tony into a hug. Steve expects Tony to jerk away, but instead, he leans into Rhodey’s chest, turning his face into his shoulder and trembling. “Pepper’s coming. She survived, Tones. She’ll be here in a few days. We’re going to get him back, too. We’re going to do everything we can.”

 _Here it comes._ Tony would pull himself together. The quip would come. The sarcasm.

But Tony is limp in Rhodey’s arms, nearly catatonic as Rhodey lowers him to the pillows. He shakes as he pulls the sheets tighter around himself and screws him eyes shut, cradling his left arm to his chest. Even with his tightly closed eyes, tears leak out, streaming over his bruised and cut face. At first, it’s only a few tears, but he begins to sob with abandon, chest quaking. He presses one hand over his mouth, eyes still closed. Rhodey exhales, shoulders slumping, as he grips Tony’s shoulder.

“I let him die,” Tony murmurs. “That’s on me. And he _apologized_.”

“Try to sleep,” Rhodey whispers in response. He glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. Steve flinches. _Shit_. He shouldn’t have been watching. He holds up a hand in apology before returning to his own room, undressing, and climbing into an empty bed.

What he wouldn’t give to hold Bucky.

He tries to sleep, but he can’t stop thinking about the ravaged way that Bucky said his name. He tries to close his eyes, but he sees Tony sobbing. It takes practice to cry so silently.  

He’s quite good at it himself.

 

#

 

Steve eats breakfast alone the next morning. He doesn’t think about how the sun always brightened Bucky’s blue eyes, or how he could be eating alone from now on if they don’t reverse the snap. He eats his eggs and nearly chokes on them when Tony walks in.

“Any more of that?” Tony asks, like they’d spoken regularly for two years and hadn’t actively avoided each other.

“The eggs?” Steve blurts.

“Yeah. I’m going to starve to death. I don’t think I’ve eaten since before I chased Thanos’s purple ass to Titan.” He casually takes a pan from a shelf, wincing slightly as he stretches his arm up. Steve gapes. Tony had been _stabbed._ Brutally. And was cracking eggs to eat for breakfast.

“You’re hurt,” Steve says.

Tony shrugs. “I’ve certainly been better. I think everyone can say that. Did you see Thor? The missing eye kills his Fabio vibe.”

“Tony.” Steve searches for words. _I saw you sobbing your eyes out. You lost someone. I’m sorry for Siberia. I’m sorry for abandoning the team. If we’d been together, we would’ve won. I should’ve been here before you disappeared._ “Who did you lose on—”

“I assume you’re pretty chummy with Shuri already,” Tony interrupts. “She gave me the rundown of Barnes’s situation and what happened after Siberia.”

“Tony—”

“I don’t need to hear anything about it. This is a beautiful place, though. The tech. I know someone who would love to—” A dreamy look passes over Tony’s face before it fades to something darker. He glances at his pan. “Shit. I need to scramble these.”

Steve watches him cook. He’s slower than usual. Favors his left side. “We’re going to have to talk eventually. You can’t pretend nothing’s wrong.

“I can.” Tony moves his eggs off the heat and dumps them onto a plate. When he picks up a bag of cheese, though, his hands tremble uncontrollably. “And I will. We’re going to work to defeat Thanos and get these people back. Half the universe is gone, Rogers. I want him—them—back. If there was ever a time to avenge, it’s now.”

“But you aren’t okay.”

Tony’s eyes darken. “And if I’m not, why is it your business?”

“I lost someone, too.”

“Barnes.” Tony barks out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. I noticed you weren’t standing in front of him like a guard dog. Nothing left to protect, is there?”

Once, Steve would’ve snapped at him. A response, a taunt, a call to battle lingered on his tongue, but suddenly, exhaustion washes over him. He wronged Tony. He hurt him. Tony was hurt now. Forgiveness needed to be doled out more than vengeance and pride.  

“Okay,” he says. “Enjoy your eggs.”

Tony hesitates in the doorway, gaze flickering over Steve, before he leaves.

_Who did you lose?_

 

#

 

Steve watches Tony for cracks over the next few days.

 

He watches so closely that he forgets to look for cracks in himself.

He’s washing dishes, cleaning up after himself because that’s the one _goddamn thing he can do_ ; he can’t chase Thanos because nobody knows where he is, he can’t build things like Tony or Bruce, he can’t punch anyone because there’s nobody to punch.   
So he washes dishes.

And thinks about Bucky.

Thinks about him crumbling to ash.

Thinks about the way he called for Steve. His last words.

Thinks about all the times he couldn’t save Bucky, wasn’t even good enough to keep the man he loved alive; and if he wasn’t good enough to do that, then why did he deserve to save the world, why did he deserve to be—

A bowl shatters in his grip.

Shards of glass tear open his palm and wrist. He snaps out a string of curses—pure back-alley Brooklyn emerging for what feels like the first time in decades. Blood gushes out instantly, turning the soapy water a murky pink. Steve watches blood pour from his wrists, wondering if he could bleed out before the serum healed him. He was so _tired._ Even moving to find a bandage seemed like too much effort. So he watched his blood drip into the sink.

“What’s with all the no-no words? Are we…” Tony walks in and trails off.

Of course Tony had to find him.

“Okay, Steve.” His voice becomes several levels gentler. “What can I—”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Hot tears prickle his eyes. He can’t even do this right. Tony’s the one who isn’t okay. He doesn’t need to make it worse by adding his own problems and squeezing guilt from his. “The bowl broke in my hand. I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugs and hands Steve a dish towel. “Not my bowl. I bet Shuri has more where that one came from.”

Steve wraps the towel around his wrist, staunching the already-lessened blood flow. “I’m still sorry you found me. You shouldn’t have to—”

“I’m not going to break.” Tony grins, but the corners of his mouth don’t go as far up as they should, there are dark circles under his eyes, and God, Steve hates himself for letting this happen. For letting any of this happen.

“I’m going to…” Steve motions at his wrist. “You know.”

“Were you just going to stand there and bleed?”

“I would’ve taken care of it eventually.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah. I know someone else who said that all the time and never took care of it. Go bandage yourself up.”

“Who?”

Tony’s walls snap back into place. “Nobody.”

“I’m—”

“If that sentence ends with sorry, we’re going to have problems. More problems.”

“Okay.” Steve swallows hard. He needs to find a way to help Tony. Fast. “Thank you.”

 

#

 

Steve passes the lab Tony works in sometimes at night, when he walks because he can’t sleep. The door’s always closed, but there’s always light coming from under the door. Steve doesn’t _mean_ to listen, but being a super soldier means super hearing.

He hears laughter on a recorded video, a teenager’s voice calling _Mr. Stark!_ between fits of giggling. He hears robots whirring and grainy rock music playing. He hears the recording of Tony speaking, laughing breathlessly between words and sounding happier than Steve had ever heard him. Tony teases someone named Peter, relentlessly but affectionately. The recording plays over and over—Steve stays long enough to hear it three times.

He also stays long enough to hear Tony’s quiet sobs and a shot glass hit the floor.

 

#

 

Steve goes to Rhodey, who’s sitting in an office Shuri provided him with and skimming over various maps. He sits without preamble, inhaling deeply as Rhodey arches an eyebrow in question.

“Tony isn’t okay,” Steve says.

“Is this supposed to be news?” Rhodey doesn’t look up from his map, but when Steve doesn’t reply, he leans back in his chair. “Look. You weren’t here after Afghanistan. After New York. Tony has PTSD and anxiety and all other sorts of issues that soldier have, but he won’t admit it.” Rhodey laughs bitterly. “Do you know what they did to him in Afghanistan? Because I barely do. He doesn’t say. But I figured it out. They operated on him without anaesthetic. Vivisected him and put a car battery in his chest.”

Steve sucks in a breath. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what he wanted,” Rhodey replies. “They waterboarded him. They tortured him. And you know what he wanted when he got back on American soil? A cheeseburger and a press conference. He presses on like nothing happened until he snaps. You just have to be there to pick up the pieces. Do you think it’s easy knowing how much he’s hurting? Peter was—” Rhodey falls silent.

“Peter,” Steve repeats. “Was that his name?”

“Yes.” Rhodey runs his hand over his graying hair. “Tony’s intern. The kid needed a father, Tony needed someone to care for. I don’t know the details of how it went down, but they both went to Titan, and only Tony came back.”

Steve exhales, exhaustion seeping through his bones. How many times would the world batter them before they all shattered? “What will happen to Tony?”

“Tony will break and put himself back together.” Rhodey motions for Steve to leave, the crease between his brow deepens. “And we’re going to pray someone’s there when it happens.”

 

#

 

_Tony will break and put himself back together._

Steve eases his thumb over the healing wound on his wrist from the broken bowl, sitting sleepless at the edge of his bed—again. On the run with Sam and Natasha, he slept very little. It was easier to turn the past over and over in his mind, musing over the peaceful look on Bucky’s face as he went back into cryofreeze. All around him, the people he loved crumbled to pieces, and he stood alive in the middle of it. Helpless. Useless.

He presses down on the wound a little harder before standing and leaving the bedroom. He starts his laps through the corridors, nodding slightly as palace guards pass him. They expect this, now, even expected it the times he stayed with Bucky. A few took to calling him a ghost. Steve couldn’t argue—he haunted the hallways, and sometimes, he felt like he haunted his own life. In worse moods, he thought he haunted the world, a shadow of the man who promised to be good.

What good man abandoned his friends?

He lingers outside Tony’s closed lab door and listens. Another video. The same teenaged voice, this time giggling manically. On the recording, Tony shouts at one of his robots—Dum-E—over a cacophony of crashes, but there’s no heat in his voice. _Parker!_ he shouted. _This isn’t what the suit’s supposed to be for!_

In actuality, glass shatters against the floor.

He closes his eyes. After Steve was given the serum, Howard ran further tests on him, giving them cause to spend time together; it was rare, then, but there would be nights where he drank liberally and worked himself into a rage. Could that anger have been turned against Tony? Could the tendency to drown problems rather than vanquish them have been passed from father to son? Tony was so like Howard, yet so different.

Steve hears a string of muttered curses and footsteps, so he walks on.

 

#

 

Despite what most people think, Steve’s had more than enough time to adjust to the century’s technology. He borrows a laptop from T’Challa and types in _Peter Parker._

A picture starts to develop.

An Instagram page—Peter Parker, sixteen years old, student at Midtown School of Science and Technology. Lived with his aunt in Queens, had lost both parents and his uncle.

A few school paper articles—talented in science fairs, one of the stars of the academic decathlon time, former marching band member.

Steve goes deeper, bypassing security measures like Bucky taught him to do.

Files for Stark Industries—officially registered as an intern’s of Tony (Steve knows Tony doesn’t take _interns_ ), had a pass for frequent visitors, came nearly every Friday.

A collection of encrypted video files—Spider-Man swinging through buildings in Queens, catching cars with his bare hands, wearing a suit that screamed Stark from its vibrant colors to tricked-out, ingenious functions, fighting alongside Iron Man.

_You got heart, kid. Where’re you from?_

Oh.

_Queens._

Peter was Spider-Man.

Something was still missing from the picture, a key color that would’ve made Steve’s art teachers in the thirties purse their lips in disapproval. Why had Tony let him go to Titan? How had they gotten so close?

The answers laid in a place Steve didn’t know he was allowed to search.

 

#

Days pass.

Little progress is made against Thanos.

Tony keeps his walls astonishingly high.

Steve watches him whenever they were in the same room, cataloguing for cracks in the surface. It hurt. He remembered how Tony had gone after Bucky like a rabid animal, so savagely Steve had thought he was going to kill him. Protecting Bucky came as naturally as breathing, but there would be no killing Tony—only disarming at any cost but death. Now, he waits. Rhodey said someone needed to be there to pick up the pieces, and damn it, he would be. This time, he’d be there without having to be called.

He’s sketching Bucky’s face in a common room—trying to capture the exact tilt of his mouth when he smiled—when Tony storms in and slams his fist on the table. Steve’s pencil jerks across the page.

“Why have you been watching me?” Tony snaps.

“Excuse me?” Steve says.

“You’ve been watching me for days. Planning to stick the shield in my chest again?”

“Tony—”

Tony’s eyes flash, and Steve sees liquor’s hold. It’s early in the morning, but Tony’s at least tipsy. “We have the same goal, Cap, but—”

“I’m sorry.” The words rush from Steve’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. God, he didn’t want to do this when Tony’s was drunk, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted? “For everything I’ve done. For everything that happened.”

Tony blinks sluggishly, the alcohol’s influence slowing him. “You aren’t. You never apologize.” He stumbles away with less conviction than before, and when Steve glances down at the drawing again, all he can think about is how he didn’t get Bucky’s eyes quite right and that maybe the one person who could save Tony is ash.

 

#

 

Tony’s normal—perhaps sober—again by dinner. He sits between Bruce and Rhodey, a grin cracked across his face while he discusses technology with Shuri. Steve looks under the surface, though. He catches the in-between moments where Tony’s inflection isn’t quite right, the lulls where his eyes turn tormented, the beats where he pales. Only because he’s looking.

Because he’s going to rescue Tony before he drowns in himself.

After the meal, Tony shoots Steve an unreadable look. Steve feels flayed open, more exposed than in the moments after he received the serum. Had Tony driven a knife through his chest, it would’ve been kinder.

“You’re still watching me,” Tony says. “Afraid I’m going to disappear on you?”

 _In a sense._ Steve stays quiet.

“I’m not going anywhere until Thanos is dead.” Tony steps closer, jaw clenched. “He was in my head for years. I flew threw the wormhole and saw what was coming, but I couldn’t stop him from taking everything. You blamed me for Ultron.” He laughs harshly. “I’m surprised you aren’t blaming me for this.

“I wouldn’t,” Steve blurts. “I lost someone, too.”

“Okay.” Tony runs his hand over his pallid, sweaty face. “Fine. I’ll take that for tonight.” He turns on his heel and strides away.

 _You aren’t alright._ Steve opens his mouth to call after him, but he’s gone. Sorrow fills him again, like water flooding into a well.

Of course they would get caught on each other’s jagged edges.

 

#

 

When Steve wakes up that night, he gets the chilling sense that something’s _wrong._

The morning Bucky received his papers saying he’d be in the military, Steve had woken up with the same strange feeling. Ever since the serum, his ability to gauge the universe’s balance had only increased.

“Call Rhodes,” he mutters into the com by his bed.

“The Colonel is away on official business and cannot be reached,” FRIDAY replies.

“Pepper, then.”

“Ms. Potts is currently in a meeting in another timezone. Would you like me to use emergency protocols?”

“Don’t disturb her.” He wouldn’t disrupt their lives on a hunch; instead, he pushes the covers back and pads barefoot through his typical path, stopping in front of Tony’s lab. His breath hitches. The door’s open.

There’s a reason it was closed.

The room reeks of liquor. Empty bottles and beer cans litter the floor and tables, mingling with broken robotic parts and shards of suits. A fleet of ten new suits stand guard on the far wall by a row of computer screens, three of which are broken. A sticky note in wobbly handwriting reads _Write T’Challa a check for broken tech._ In the background, a video plays, voices haunting the high-ceilinged room, but Tony himself is nowhere to be found.

 _“Mr. Stark!”_ someone says on the video. Peter, probably. Steve approaches the projection. It’s Tony’s old lab at the tower, security footage that’s been increased to perfect quality. A teenager sticks to the ceiling, crawling along the surface and grinning wildly.

 _Get down, kid_ , the Tony on the recording says. Steve moves closer. He almost doesn’t recognize him. This version of Tony has bright eyes, an easy smile, and relaxed shoulders. Tony reaches for a rubber ball, but Peter webs Tony’s hand to the table. Tony’s laugh comes freely.

The video switches.

_Peter!_

Steve clenches his fist.

Footage from Tony’s suit. Peter lays in a crumpled heap on a warehouse floor, blood streaming from his nose and ears, eyes bruised and closed. On the recording, Tony makes a strangled sound. He reaches forward and shakes Peter’s shoulder, but the teenager’s head lolls to the side. Tony repeats his name over and over until it devolves into sobs that tear at Steve’s heart. Finally, Peter opens his eyes groggily and blinks at Tony.

 _Mr. Stark_ ? he asks. _Did we win?_

Tony crushes Peter to his chest. Unable to watch, Steve pauses the video.

“Tony?” he calls. The projection’s blue light waivers through the room. Steve steps carefully through the room, wincing as he takes in the ruined room and grease stains. He flicks the light on and gasps.

Tony’s laying motionless on the floor.

A sheen of sweat coats his pale face, running down to his clammy hands. His hands are curled protectively over his stomach, but Steve drops to his knees and pulls them away. His fingers come away damp with blood; he pushes up Tony’s black t-shirt and sucks in a breath. The knife wound oozes blood, deep red flowing over the torn stitches.

“Oh, God.” Steve grabs a cloth from the table, checking it for grease before pressing it to Tony’s side, and then tapping the side of Tony’s face gently. “Tony? Tony, wake up?” He leans close to his chest, listening for a heartbeat. Tony doesn’t stir. “Wake up, Tony.”

Tony drags in a wet breath and pushes himself into a sitting position. Eyes wild, he rears back his fist before slamming it against Steve’s jaw. He sprawls back, blood pooling in his mouth, as Tony mutters under his breath.

“Peter,” he gasps. “Peter.”

“He isn’t here, Tony,” Steve murmurs. _Neither is Bucky._ Two people they both cared about deeply, both reduced to dust, both ripped away. Was it what they deserved for everything they’d done? Maybe Steve deserved it. There had to be a reason the world kept taking Bucky from him. Tony, though, tried to do good. Peter was a kid.

Nothing made sense.

Tony inhales again, but the breath catches in his throat and turns into a sob. As he cries, he clutches his torn-open stomach, trying to pull himself to his feet. Steve stands, not touching Tony as he struggles, but as soon as Tony pitches forward, Steve catches him.

“I have you,” Steve says. Tony cries harder. “I have you.”

This, he thinks, is what Rhodey warned him about. No signs, no sound, only the wreckage of the aftermath.

 

#

 

Tony’s silent as Steve half-carries, half-drags him to the bedroom he knows Tony was _supposed_ to be sleeping in. The bed’s untouched, though, the floor suspiciously neat. Steve eases him onto the bed’s edge, looking away from the horribly blank expression on Tony’s face. He almost prefers tears to nothingness.

“I’m going to get bandages,” Steves says.

Tony doesn’t respond.

Steve takes a bowl of water and a rag from the kitchen, then grabs bandages from his room. When he returns, Tony’s staring at the floor, eyes bright with tears again.

“You’re bleeding pretty bad,” Steve says.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Tony quips. Steve rolls his eyes and pulls off Tony’s shirt—he isn’t going to be disarmed by sarcasm. “If you wanted to get my clothes off, you could’ve asked.”

“I’ve been in a committed relationship for eighty years, Stark, and you for a decade. Don’t flatter yourself.” Steve wets the cloth and swipes it over Tony’s abdomen, ignoring the gnarled mass of scars surrounding the space where the ARC reactor rested. He’d seen Bucky’s often enough to know not to say anything.

“You and Barnes?”

Steve blinks back sudden tears. “He’s half my soul.”

“Since…”

“Since before World War II.” Steve chuckles. “I can’t tell you how many times I was in the position you were in now after a fight. He always got so mad at me because I couldn’t keep my fists where they belonged.”

Tony falls quiet as Steve wrings out the pink-tinged cloth. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“We all had our losses.” Steve draws back so he can look Tony in his red-rimmed eyes. “I shouldn’t have broken up the team. We should’ve faced him together.”

“Should’ve.” Tony closes his eyes. Steve begins to bandage Tony’s wound. “Peter said he should’ve stayed on the bus. He… I… I should’ve made sure he went home. I told him it was a one-way trip. You said that to me once. I stole a lot of things you taught me when it came to him.” Tony chuckles, then winces. “God, he reminded me of you. If the two of you got in a room together, crime wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“He sounds like a great kid.”

“Yeah. He was.” Tony bites his lip. “Disintegrated in my arms. He fought it. He knew what would happened. I thought…” Tony screws his eyes shut. “I thought maybe if I held him tight enough, I could keep him from dying. That I could just hold him my heart.”

“Tony…”

“I know it’s stupid.” He ran both hands through his hair, then exhaled. “I wanted to save him. If I couldn’t save anyone else, I wanted to at least save him.”

Steve finishes bandaging the wound and sits on the bed next to Tony. It’s a victory when Tony doesn’t scoot away. “That isn’t stupid. I thought I could save Vision. I didn’t want anyone else to die. It was the last piece of you. I saw the way Wanda looked at him. Pick a reason.”

“I did everything I could to stop Thanos from getting to you.”

“Was it him to stabbed you?”

“With a piece of my own armor.” Tony grazed his fingers against the bandages, his touch traveling to the ARC reactor casing. “I thought I was going to die. Stephen Strange traded the time stone for my life. I’m not worth that.”

“But you are.” Steve turns to Tony. “We’d have no chance without you. I’m a disaster. I see Bucky’s face wherever I go, I can’t stop thinking about how I should’ve saved him. God’s probably laughing at me because He’s taken Bucky so many times. I probably deserve this. We need someone like you to keep this team together.”

They both exhale.

“There are so many issues with everything you said,” Tony says. “But I suppose I can’t say anything.”

“You should’ve asked for help.”

Tony shrugs one shoulder. “Have you ever done that?

“You should never compare yourself to me. Bucky says I’m wildly unstable, and that means a lot coming from him.”

“We’re both pretty fucked up, aren’t we?” Tony leans back against the pillows and rubs his bleary eyes. “I don’t see how we can win this, Steve, and for real? I don’t know if I can trust you again. I want to. More than anything.”

A new fire burns in Steve’s chest, all-encompassing and bright. “I’ll prove myself to you. And I’ll believe we can win enough for the both of us. How does that sound? Because I want Bucky back, and I want you to have your kid back. Thanos is asking for it.”

A small smile creeps across Tony’s face. “It’s a start.”

Steve closes his eyes, something inside him settling.

 

#

 

The next morning, Tony and Steve are eating breakfast together when Thor enters, a spark in his eyes that has nothing to do with lightning.

“What’s up, Point Break?” Tony says.

“We found a way to defeat him.” Thor grins and turns to Steve. “The time stone.”

“Time travel?” Steve says.

“Different points in history where we can change how we acted,” Tony says. “What we did. What we didn’t do.”

“A new team,” Steve adds.

“Where do we start?” Tony asks. “What comes next?”

Steve grins. “We avenge.”


End file.
